"Why, that must be the old pump by the stables," said Barbara. "Look at this receipt, 'for work Don accorden to Bill?'"
"There seem to be plenty of them. Are the other drawers full too?"
"Yes, I think so. You had better take one as a souvenir."
"No, thank you." He smiled as he thrust the bills he held down among the dusty bundles in the drawer, and brushed his finger tips fastidiously. "Souvenirs ought to be characteristic. A receipted bill would be a very respectable souvenir, but I'm afraid it would convey a false impression of the Rothwells."
She looked away, a little perplexed and dissatisfied. It seemed to her that the future master of Mitchelhurst should not talk in that fashion of his own people, and she did not understand that the slight bitterness of speech was merely the outcome of a life of discontent. He hardly knew how to speak otherwise. "I suppose they would have paid everybody if they hadn't had misfortunes," she said.
"No doubt. We would most of us pay our bills if we had nothing else to do with the money."
"Well," Barbara declared with a blush, "the next Rothwell will pay his bills, I know."
"We'll hope so." His smile apparently emboldened her, for she looked up at him. "Mr. Harding," she began.